


going offline

by mothwrites



Series: tripartite [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Sickfic, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: Peter's sick. Tony's still figuring out this mentor thing.





	

Peter was sick.

Tony became aware of this after he woke up one morning and sneezed five times in a row; startling the hell out of Bruce who awoke with a yell and spent the next minute staring at him ruefully, hair ruffled, skin sleep-warm.

“Good morning,” Bruce said with a smirk as Tony finally stopped exploding.

“Peter’s sick,” Tony said in way of explanation, and then leaned down for a good morning kiss. Bruce dodged him.

“Don’t get me sick,” he warned. “I have lectures today.”

“ _I’m_ not sick,” Tony protested, though the bunged-up feeling in his nose felt annoyingly present as he did. “A fifteen-year-old in Queens is sick. Kiss me.”

Bruce allowed him a peck in passing as he slid out of bed and made his way to the shower. Tony leaned back against the pillows and grabbed his phone from the bedside table.

**So, you’re sick _,_** he texted Peter.

The reply came almost instantly. **AM NOT _._**

He asked if Peter was still coming by after school to hang out in the lab, and a minute later received a surprisingly heartfelt “pls”, and then a snap of Peter’s school desk, complete with a poetry book and the word “WHY” written in big red letters. Tony couldn’t see the poem itself, but got a sudden echo of Whitman in the back of his head, and smiled.

Peter confirmed via text, once again, that he wasn’t sick. Tony had another sneezing fit.

 “This is going to be fun,” Tony said out loud, putting his phone back down on the table with a groan before he heard the sound of running water hitting tiles. “Banner, wait up.”

“I don’t shower with sick people,” came a voice from the bathroom.

“I’m not sick!”

*

At first, Peter thought he was getting a wave of spider-sense anxiety; low and prickling at the back of his head and tight behind his eyes. Then a sharp pain started in his temple, and he was forced to admit that it was just a headache. And a cough. And perhaps a slight fever.

His phone pinged. **Go to the goddamn nurse** _,_ Tony had texted **. I can feel your headache from here.**

**I’M NOT SICK** _,_ Peter texted back, more to keep the joke going than anything else because yeah, he did feel pretty lousy. The fact that his only soulmate was suffering too as a consequence didn’t help matters.

*

“Why am I suddenly freezing?” Tony asked aloud, looking up from the mountain of accord committee papers he was supposed to be reading and signing. The apartment living area was empty. Bruce had gone to speak at a physics conference in the morning and wouldn’t be back until late. Outside the weather was threatening to storm: he could swear he heard thunder amidst the sounds of lashing rain.

He called Rhodey.

“Please tell me you just drank a slushy super quickly,” Tony said without any preamble.

“Black coffee,” Rhodey replied, because he hadn’t survived twenty-plus years as Tony Stark’s second soulmate by asking for explanations.

“God, this is so much _work._ ” Tony hung up. Walking over to the glass walls and looking out at the streets of Manhattan, he started scanning the streets for his Third. He couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling of cold water running down his neck, but when he reached his hand up to rub the skin, it was dry as a bone and warm. “Damn it, Parker. FRIDAY, call Peter.”

It took a painfully long time for Peter to answer his mobile, and when he did, his voice was brittle and shaky.

“Hey,” Tony said, “just checking in, you know, that you didn’t get lost on the way here from school or that you weren’t stupid enough to _walk through a storm when you’re already sick._ ”

“Ouch,” Peter laughed down the phone, though it was weak and could barely be heard through the rain and the noise of the traffic. “I’m on the bus.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t lie to me. You know it literally doesn’t work. What were you thinking? No, I got it, you weren’t thinking. How far away are you?”

There was a moment of silence (rain, thunder, cars, rattled breathing), as Peter judged the situation. “Maybe ten minutes,” he admitted.

“I’m coming to get you,” Tony said immediately. “Just – find a roof and wait under it, okay?”

“You need me to tell you where I am?” Peter asked, half-sarcastic.

“No,” Tony said, short, and waved the call screen away. He’d always know where Peter was. He could track the phone, of course, but it was easier to follow that nagging, pulling sensation in his heart that would always lead him to one of three people.

He found Peter shivering under a café tarpaulin, soaked to the bone and looking half the size of his usual spindly frame. He raised an eyebrow from the driver’s seat. “Get in.”

“You’re looking at me like I just murdered your dog,” Peter complained after a series of heart-breaking coughs. “It’s just a little water.”

“Why the hell didn’t you get the bus?”

Peter squirmed in his seat and didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to; Tony suddenly felt a phantom experience of cold water in his shoes, and a hand digging in his pocket for change that wasn’t there. There was a sense of embarrassment, and he didn’t know if it was his or Peter’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony asked, making a concentrated effort to try and make his voice softer, friendlier, but not condescending. “I’d have picked you up. Or sent a car.”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk,” Peter said, like that explained everything. “Quit fussing.”

Peter went straight to “his room” – the guest bedroom he’d claimed after subtle nudging from Tony – to shower the cold off and change. He could barely keep his eyes open in the shower; the warmth and the rhythmic sounds of the water coming down had him dropping off for a few seconds at a time more than once. It took repeated insistence from FRIDAY to get him to open his eyes fully, turn off the water and get into dry clothes. Tony had thrown a hoodie at him as they’d gotten out of the car and he pulled it on now.

_Did you fall asleep in the shower?_ Tony asked in the back of his mind.

_Almost,_ Peter sent back. _I’ll get working in like… half an hour. It’s nap time._

_Jesus, just go to sleep. I’ll call May._

_Thanks,_ Peter sent sleepily, already on the bed and curled into a ball. He was too tired to be embarrassed about wealth and attention any longer. There were a million things he wanted to do in the lab, and a stack of homework to finish, and cold medicine to be found and taken, but right now he was content enough to fall asleep on the ridiculously comfortable guest – _his_ – bed.

In the kitchen, Tony felt Peter ‘go offline’, as he liked to call it, and breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure Bruce never had this issue with Rick. Actually, he mused, Bruce would probably just lock Rick in his room until he agreed to take some cold medicine and have a nap.

Tony clicked his fingers. _Cold medicine._ And food. That was how you took care of sick kids, right?

He wavered, and his hand went to his phone.

May picked up on the second ring.

“I’ve stolen your nephew for the evening,” he said. “How do you make soup?”


End file.
